Agatha hoped for leftovers - there was a time when she would’ve
expected them, being the town elder, but those times were past. She watched the
fight through her fading eyesight. It was just a scrawny chicken; the poor
thing had wandered into the neighbourhood looking for food too.
Things had gotten worse since the military had moved out.
They couldn’t keep control with their own strength failing. When soldiers couldn’t
get food either you knew things were bad.
Agatha tutted, lifting a scrawny finger up to scratch Jack’s
chin. He was perched on her shoulder as usual. Many had eyed her cat, but they
weren’t going to have him. They’d die together if it came to that.
She shuffled back into the house, pushing the heavy door behind
her and locking it fast. Night was coming, time to get it shuttered up before
the scavengers arrived.
You should expand this into a longer story, it hints at so much more.
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